Author: wonderfulexchange

Kimberly Bohan is a priest in the Diocese of Lincoln, less surprised by angels than by being so far south.

Americana

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Those who know me best can confirm that the longer I live in Britain, the more American I become.

The truth, of course, is that at 18 you do all you can to fit in, but by 38, you really don’t care.

But the particular aspect of Americana that emerge always surprise me.  Right now, this season, I have suddenly embraced my roots, and discovered a love of cookies.

Please understand:  cookies are not biscuits.  This is not just a word game.  Cookies are chewy and soft and wonderful.  Biscuits are for serving with tea when you really don’t want people to get too comfortable.

It began with a sudden craving for oatmeal cookies a few months ago.
And then — as Halloween came, and then the snow, I have been on a quest for the perfect Molasses Cookie.

The Perfect Molasses Cookie comes from Sturbridge Village.   It is eaten as you walk on dirt paths through bright autumn leaves, or as you stand shivering in the snow and discover a sudden interest in blacksmiths, because the forge is warm.  The cookies are hard when you bite into them — almost too hard — but then they yield and become chewy, dark handfulls of bliss.

These cookies are also big — 5 or 6 inches across, even when such a thing was rare in the states.  (there is no reason to make a 6 inch chocolate chip cookie.  It is just consumerism gone wrong.  A chocoloate chip cookie has it’s best texture at 2 1/2 inches.  But a Molasses cookie needs to be big, to get the right mix of crunchy and chewy — as well as to see you through the gale force ten storm, as you ride the waves.

OK, you’ve caught me.  Sturbridge has no waves.  But the cookie in question has a shipping heritage, and I grew up near Mystic too.  Old Cookie recipes are allowed to accumulate geography along the way.

So far, my attempts to create this perfect childhood memory have failed.  They have failed because I have not found the right recipe yet — and not just because of the inevitable gilding of childhood memory.  But what fun it is trying.

The first batch tasted great, but had totally the wrong texture.
The second batch came closer to the right texture, but the taste was not as good.  The next batch — which is on hold till I either want them enough to carry flour across town in the snow, or till I manage to free my car from the driveway — might just be the one, though I am dubious about the concept that the chewy wonders might be roll cookies instead of drop cookies.

The recipie below is the second one — chewy, but not spicy enough.  I’ll give it as I made it and you can adapt.

I realise, of course, that I should be thinking about more noble things in Advent.  But today is Wednesday, and my day off, and cookies also proclaim the glory of God.

recipe below the fold… Continue reading “Americana” →

when peaceful silence…

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It is beautiful here.  Snowing again — fine, eccentric flakes glimmering in the sun.   The driveway never catches the light — which means that the 18+ inches of snow might be problematic for quite a while.  But at my desk, it is warm and bright.

And I love it.

More that the view, I love the sound — the lack of sound.  A deep still silence broken only by the occasional bird chirp.  This is such a contrast to the usual state of the rectory:  constant chatter and laughter and screaming from the school kids as they walk back and fort to the hall; the regular whoosh of cars and thud of doors.

The silence is so precious that I don’t want to break it.  Or miss it.

Several of my more extroverted friends are getting restless.  They are tearing through work, knee deep in show to run errands.  A part of me wishes I had their restlessness, their energy.  I would get much more done.

But snow brings out the huge gulf between introverts and extroverts.

I just love this:  the silence, the stillness, the lack of pressure to go anywhere or see anyone.

And I am getting things done — cleaning bits of the house that I haven’t seen for a while.  Helping people learn how to use WordPress.  Doing odds and ends for Christmas.  Catching up with that endless pile of things that are always needing attention but never quite urgent.  But I thought I’d be further through it by now.

No.  It seems there is enough to do to keep me busy for days, weeks like this.

And there will come a day (tomorrow, perhaps) where I have to choose to leave the peace and the silence, lest I get trapped here and forget how to emerge.

But for now it is glorious, and healing.   Less productive this week, perhaps; but in the long run, this is more productive, more creative.  The weeks ahead will be better, and easier because of it.

I am envious of my extroverted friends energy, of their productivity.

But this is weather for introverts, and I am suddenly at peace.

beginning

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When Advent rolls round, or Lent, and it’s time to sort out the seasonal blogs, I think ‘why do I do this?’

I dare not think how many people I have taught to use wordpress, how many times I have talked people through signing up and learning to post.  I’m becoming much more blasé about it now that so many more people are blogging.  But still, it takes time, when I haven’t had much blogging energy for quite a while now.

But then it begins:  a flurry of emails to set it all up.  A new author whom I sense has the eagerness that some of the old hands used to have.  My most dependable, mistreatable author ready to jump in with today’s post with no warning — and what a post it is.  A whole group of people ready to step out on the ice, take a risk, try something new.

I love it.

And after a few hours of making it all work, I clicked on the blog one last time to find that someone totally new, totally unknown had found it by accident and read through all the back posts.

And that makes it worth it.   Every time.